


An Angel Who Fell And A Hunter Who Believed

by Hercules



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hercules/pseuds/Hercules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas in the bunker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Angel Who Fell And A Hunter Who Believed

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first published fan fiction. If there are any mistakes, please let me know. Constructive criticism is always helpful. I hope you all enjoy! Have a wonderful holiday!

_Just hear those sleigh bells jingling,_

_Ring-ting-tingling too,_

_Come on, it’s lovely weather_

_For a sleigh ride together with you!_

            Castiel rolled over in his bed and clutched the blankets closer to him.

 

_Outside the snow is falling_

_And friends are calling, “Yoo hoo”,_

_Come on, it’s lovely weather_

_For a sleigh ride together with you._

            Yanking the blankets up over his head, he grumpily sighed.  Not wanting to get up quite yet, he curled into the fetal position and willed the noise to stop and sleep to take over once more.

            No such luck.

 

_Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up,_

_Let’s go… Let’s look at the show,_

_We’re riding in a wonderland of snow._

            Slightly irritated, Castiel kicked the blankets off of him and just laid in his bed, wide awake.  He glanced at the clock, sitting on the bedside table.  _7:00AM_.  Sighing, he rubbed his eyes with his fists.

            After four months, Cas was still learning the ropes of being human – one of the first and, by far, the most intimidating things he had to learn was the art of sleeping.  Losing consciousness for hours at a time was not appealing to the ex-angel.  As an angel of the Lord and a soldier, Castiel needed to be prepared and on alert, which is what he told his two companions, Dean and Sam Winchester.  Dean just looked at him incredulously then, with a shake of his head, looked at his younger brother.

            “Cas…”  Sam said with something like pity etched on his face.

            The ex-angel drew his shoulders back and gave the younger Winchester a challenging look.

            “Cas, you’re no longer an angel”

            He looked over at Dean, who was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

            Castiel’s posture deflated, curving in on itself.  He knew that Dean did not mean to harm him with his words, he was just blunter than his younger brother, but that didn’t cushion the sting.  Cas knew that he lost his angelic grace through the betrayal of the Scribe of God, Metatron and he knew that holding on to his old ways was foolish but he did not want to lose the usefulness that came with his powers – without it, he was just a baby in a trench coat with no real purpose.

            “I know that, Dean” he mumbled, sadly.

            Rather than staying to listen to the boys’ words of comfort and see their looks of pity, Cas rushed out of the room, brushing past Dean who looked as if he wanted to say more.

            He stayed in his room for the rest of the night.

 

            Once the next song started up, Cas knew that there was no end in sight.  Rather than suffering through the endless noise, he decided to get up and find a way to make it stop.  Dressing in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, Cas ventured out into the bunker, following the music.  Through the hallway, through the living space, through the library, and eventually to the kitchen where he found out where the music was coming from.

            On the kitchen counter, the beat-up old radio that Dean found in the bunker’s basement was blaring out the Christmas songs and standing in front of the stove was the man himself.  Clad in a faded t-shirt and boxers, Dean Winchester was bent over, checking something in the oven.  The sight, mixed with the delicious smell that was coming from the open oven, had Cas averting his gaze.

            “Hello, Dean” Cas said, staring intensely at the mystery spot on the kitchen ceiling.

            A crash and a muttered “fuck” had the ex-angel’s gaze whipping back to Dean, who was massaging the back of his head.

            “Jesus, Cas.  Even without your angel mojo, you’re still able to sneak up and scare the crap out of a guy”.

            “My apologies”.  The comment, while good-humored, still hurt.  He raised a hand to his chest, trying to rub the ache that suddenly appeared away.  He was still trying to comprehend human emotions and their physical counterpart – he figured that the feeling in his chest, or lack of feeling, was correlative to heartbreak or loss.  Not that he would tell Dean that.  The other man was not a fan of what he deemed ‘chick flick moments’ and even if he was, Cas did not want to burden him with it, especially now when he seemed to be in such a bright mood.

            Still, that didn’t stop the look of concern from crossing the other man’s face, fleeting but still present.  “You sure you’re ok, man?”

            Sighing internally, “Yes, Dean.  Except my sleep, which is essential to the life of a human, as you and Sam tell me, was quite abruptly disturbed by the music coming from that radio”.  He couldn’t stop the irritation from leaking into his voice; he had a hard time falling asleep the night before, the nightmare that plagued his sleep featured the ever-present Metatron stealing his grace and banishing him, along with his brothers and sisters, from Heaven.  The rest of the nightmare proceeded as usual: the feeling of his wings burning off of his back, the scorching pain, the cries of his family as they hurtled towards the earth, the eerie silence, the unbearable feeling of loneliness.  Although the nightmare did not occur nightly, the pain and fear it left in its wake was still present hours after waking.  He never told this to Sam or Dean.

            The latter of the two, however, paid no attention to the tone Castiel’s voice took.  Cas did not blame him, he seemed to have a lot on his mind as well.  At the mention of music, his expression lit up.

            “It’s Christmas music, man!  Jingle Bells, Silent Night, and every other song to get you in the Christmas spirit”.  He turned back to the oven.  “I got us a real feast here, Cas.  You, me, and Sammy are gonna be able to have an actual Christmas”.

            Cas was able to see the pure happiness on Dean’s face and couldn’t help but think back to those ‘Christmas days’ that Dean had with his younger brother.  Dean told him about his days as a kid-hunter, one quiet night.  Run-down motels, Christmas trees made out of beer cans, gifts from the corner store, and an absent father.  The look of excitement on the hunter’s face made it hard for Cas to find it in himself to complain.  Instead, he smiled and said, “it smells delicious, Dean”.  The ear-to-ear grin that bloomed on Dean’s face, made it all worth it – the lack of sleep, the music blaring at ungodly hours, the strange yet delightful aromas drifting through the bunker.

            “Thanks, man” a faint blush covered Dean’s cheeks, bringing out the many freckles that Cas longed to trace.  “Now go on, get outta here and let the cook do his work”.

            Cas chuckled lowly, stomach fluttering at the way Dean’s eyes kept flickering up to his through his lashes, cheeks stained an adorable pink, and shy smile playing on his lips.

**~**

            The snow was falling steadily outside, leaving the ground blanketed in a thick, white powder.  The wind blew through the trees, stinging the faces of those brave enough to journey in the sub-zero temperature.  While those outside were fighting the biting cold, the three men inside the bunker were basking in the warmth radiating from the fireplace.

            Dean was sitting in the worn armchair near the fire, head leaned back, eyes closed, and hands resting on his stomach, a look of satisfaction that only comes from a good meal on his face.  Staring at the Christmas tree that was set up and decorated earlier in the day, Sam was lost in thought holding an ornament that said _Jess 2004_ on the back, a fond look on his face, no doubt thinking about the time when he and Jess went to the pottery store down the street from their apartment to make their first Christmas ornaments together as a couple.  Cas was reclined on the plush rug directly in front of the fire, looking at the roaring fire and sneaking quick glances at Dean, in awe at the look of complete content that is a rare feeling for the hunter.

            “You know, Cas…”

            Cas jumped, fearing he was caught staring but Dean just continued, eyes remaining closed.

            “You know, Cas, this is the first real Christmas Sammy and I’ve had since mom died…  It really brought back memories.  I’m glad you’re able to be here”.

            Cas blinked.  The comment, though seemingly random, brought a light feeling to his chest.  He continued to stare at Dean but the other man still did not open his eyes.

            “I think she would have liked you.  Mom, that is.  She would have even made you wear one of those stupid Christmas sweaters”, a small smile.  “She was a fan of that.  Having the family wear sweaters.  They were absolutely ridiculous, looking back now, but mom liked them.  Seeing us in them made her smile”.  He was quiet for a while, so long that Cas believed he was done speaking so he looked back into the fire, thinking about what Dean had said, but then…

            “You make me smile”.

            Cas was sure he must have misheard or something, that’s how quietly it was murmured but one glance at Dean showed him that what he heard was real.  Dean was looking at him, his face so open, eyes so sincere.

            Sitting up straighter, Cas watched as the other man rose from his chair and joined him on the floor.  They were facing each other, so close that their knees touched.  Cas glanced around, wondering where the younger Winchester went but Dean must have read his mind because he said without taking his eyes off of the other man,

            “Sammy’s in his room”.

            Cas looked at him, “are you drunk, Dean?”

            Dean faltered, hurt flashing across his face, “W-what do you mean?”

            Cas glanced down at his knees.  _What did Dean mean when he told me that I ‘make him smile’?_   An overwhelming feeling of doubt crashed over him, leaving him unsure – _Dean’s not one for ‘chick-flick moments’, as he’s told me before.  Why would now be any different?  He must be drunk.  Alcohol causes humans to forget themselves and say/do things they don’t mean._   The thought twisted his stomach in fear; he glanced back up at Dean, letting his thoughts become known.

            “You have never been one to speak so… freely about personal topics” he searched Dean’s face.

            Dean chuckled and looked down at his hands.  “Nah, man.  I ain’t drunk – didn’t even touch any of the alcohol, surprisingly enough”.

            Cas felt guilt tugging at his heart.  Here was Dean, finally opening up and he just shot him down.  “Dean… I didn’t mean…”

            “Don’t worry about it, Cas.  Shocked me too, to be honest”.  And there was that honest smile on his face again.  Cas smiled at the sight of it, causing it to grow to a full grin.  He knew that Dean wasn’t offended by his question. 

            “What are you smiling at?”  Dean asked playfully, eyes crinkling in happiness.

            Cas just stared at the other man in awe.  Here was a man who has faced every bit of horror imaginable, a man who only allowed the world to see what he wanted it to: a mask; refused to show the other side of himself: the soft, kind, caring side.  But here he was, taking his mask off and showing Cas the side he kept hidden.

            “You”, Cas said.  “In a world where it is difficult to find reasons to smile, you make me smile too”.

            The grin on Dean’s face softened, the look in his eyes one of adoration.  He didn’t even make the comment that Cas sounded like a Dr. Seuss rhyme. Together, they leaned forward, lips meeting in the glow of the firelight, the sound of the winter wind whistling outside, blocking out everything except the faint sound of Christmas music and the whispered words of love between two unlikely lovers: an angel who fell and a hunter who believed.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I should have added this in the beginning but oh well.  
> Follow me on tumblr if you'd like: hercules95  
> Thanks again for taking the time to read this!


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